


It's Astounding

by XerotoXero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Helpful Goblins, Mostly Crack with some seriousness, Not Epilogue Compliant, Poor Harry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-01-16 10:03:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XerotoXero/pseuds/XerotoXero
Summary: When Potions Master Harry Potter and one of his clients are attacked, they do not get away unscathed. The results, though, are... unforeseen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... first fic! I'm excited! I've had this one kicking around in my brain for a while. Writing this intro chapter will hopefully be the toughest bit. I have a whole bunch of later scenes planned out.

Harry heard the alarm ring from within his work room, but ignored it, instead staring with heavy focus on the potion he was stirring. Once clockwise, twice counter clockwise, repeat fifteen times. He watched the sludgy sickly green potion with sharp eyes as it slowly turned a deep royal purple and began to smell faintly of lemon and mint. The thick gray smoke that had been unfurling from it thinned to wisps of white, and he sighed. “Much better.” He muttered, using his wand to lower the heat under the cauldron and set an alert to remind him of it in an hour.

Satisfied, he turned away from it and wiped his hands before opening the door into the main shop. He frowned when he noticed three different customers waiting at the counter with his assistant nowhere in sight.

“Meredith!” He thundered. The customers in line jumped, and he smiled apologetically at them. After a pause, a head full of curly blonde hair poked out from the main storage room. The girl was flushed and sloppy looking.

“Uh... Hi boss.” Harry was already helping the first customer in line, a doddering old witch clutching a bag of unicorn horn shavings. He turned from the witch, who was babbling on about her grandniece or something, to fix a sharp glare on the girl.

“So help me Merlin, if you have been ignoring customers to make out with your girlfriend again while I was focused on saving that wreck of a potion attempt that you 'surprised' me with this morning...” He growled as the teen bustled up beside him.

“What? No! Gwen is in Wales this week!” She insisted.

“Right, then you won't mind if I go grab some slug slime from the storage room, then.” Her panicked look was all he needed. “I already told you what would happen if you snuck her into my shop a second time to snog on my clock.” He said lowly, smiling at the witch as she finally wrapped up her purchase and story and doddered away.

“C'mon, Uncle Harry. You know my parents hate her 'cause they think she made me gay.” She whined, cashing out a distracted looking wizard.

“No, I know your parents don't like her because she made you fail all but one OWL because you were too busy snogging and the like to study. The only reason I don't fire you is because I promised Dudley that I would personally make sure you passed your Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts retests. Tonight I'm resetting the wards on the shop so she can't enter. And I will be telling you parents at dinner next week.”

“Ugh, you are the _worst_!” The teen cried out before stomping away from the counter to go sulk in the pre-made potions section. Harry did not miss the dark haired girl that chose that moment to scurry from the back room and out of the shop.

Harry groaned and roughly rubbed behind his glasses. Thank Merlin he never had kids. Nearing forty, even now he felt no need to settle down and spawn them. After his own teenage years, he could only imagine what his children would be like.

“Am I interrupting something?” A cool voice inquired, making Harry jump and forcibly pulling him from his thoughts before turning his attention back to the final customer. The remaining man tilted his head, cocking one blond eyebrow.

“Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry about that.” Harry sighed, “My niece is going through a phase.”

The man, Lord Draco Malfoy, smirked slightly. “Trust me, Mr. Potter, I understand completely. My son went through much the same sort of phase. It does abate... eventually. At least, I am told it does... I retain hope. Now, you owled me?”

Harry laughed. The other man's expression had looked just about as resigned as Harry felt. He continued to grin even as he answered. “Of course, if you would follow me, I need a couple of things from you before your potion is complete.” He led the way into the work room where the potion he had been working on before bubbled merrily, but moved past it after a brief check to make sure it was progressing properly. He approached a solid gold cauldron further into the room in which a light blue potion was held in stasis. Malfoy looked into the cauldron, his nose wrinkling slightly at the strong sent of chocolate and oranges. It wasn't unpleasant, just strong enough to nearly be overpowering.

“So this is it then?” He asked. Harry nodded, turning to grab a crystal stirring stick from the table.

“Yep, with a few additions from you, this potion will turn the consumer into essentially your biological child. Scorpius will inherit the Malfoy fortune and all that entails without the usual hoops an adopted wizard child would have to jump through.” Harry had never asked why Malfoy and his wife didn't or couldn't have their own child. They were far beyond the petty fights and acidic hatred of their early lives, but though they could be civil, they were not comfortable enough to confide in each other. It had nearly been like pulling teeth to even get Malfoy to tell him what kind of potion he needed and what for upon the man's first visit to Harry's shop, but he'd had to do it. He couldn't very well brew a potion with the vague parameters the other man had tried to hide behind.

Malfoy seemed unsure, and Harry could understand. After all, this was a potion of Harry's own invention, and a lot of old school wizards didn't hold a lot of confidence in potion recipes that were younger than Hogwarts itself. But the Malfoy line was apparently more strict than most, and only born Malfoy could inherit it without serious and fatal consequences. At least, that's what Harry could glean. The potion he had invented would change that, though. Well, it would change Scorpius so it seemed that he met the requirements, at any rate. Spells as old as the ones woven into the Malfoy inheritance were nearly impossible to actually change. 

After a minute of staring into the cauldron distrustfully, Malfoy set his shoulders and looked at Harry. “So what will you need?”

Behind them, that alarm on the door dinged, and Harry ignored it. If Meredith ignored that customer too... Promise or no, Harry would fire his cousin's daughter. He was not paying her to sulk and snog her girlfriend.

“First I will need three hairs from your head. One for each component of blood. Then I'll need you to stir it four times clockwise, wait precisely one minute, then spit into it.”

Malfoy looked at him incredulously, and for a moment Harry was looking at the boy that he went to school with. Harry was about to explain the reason behind the spit when the door to the workroom banged open behind the other man, and for a moment a dark haired teenager stood framed in it.

“Gwen?” Harry began, but had no or time to say anything as the girl brought her wand up, and with real hatred in her eyes threw a curse Harry didn't recognize. His wand went up too, but her curse went wide, hitting the cauldron with the purple potion inside. The cauldron toppled, sending it into the golden cauldron almost more quickly than he could react. Just as the two different potions collided, he managed to cast a shielding charm. But it went up slowly, and the girl was still casting, and the potions, now both ruined, splashed him violently at the same time she actually managed to hit him with the unknown curse.

He only had time to hope that Malfoy had gotten out of the splash range before his entire world went dark.

*

When he opened his eyes, he felt like an eternity and no time at all had passed at the same time.

He expected the calming brightness of Saint Mungo's, or even the comforting dimness of his flat above the shop, but instead he was met with nearly oppressive darkness. It was almost like he hadn't opened his eyes at all. For a brief moment he was frozen in panic.

Sure, a Potions Master like him could do a lot by smell alone, but there were things that would be impossible for him if he had been struck blind. He wouldn't be able to identify a lot of ingredients, he wouldn't know if a potion had turned the right color, he would have to close the shop, he...

Could see a strip of light, now that his eyes had adjusted. It was low to the ground, like it was coming from beneath a door.

The tight fist of fear that had closed around his heart loosened, and he was able to breath again.

His lungs were filled with a familiar scent, one he couldn't consciously identify. It struck a cord in his memory, a distant thing.

He sat up slowly, trying to identify the smell, when something softly brushed his forehead. Harry frowned, and reached up to investigate. It was a string, thick and worn. Harry tugged it, and the space he was in flooded with the artificial light of a muggle light bulb. He only had enough time to register that he was somehow in a cupboard. Of course it couldn't be _the_ cupboard, that would be absurd... when there came a sharp rap on the door and a voice he knew well shrieked "Up! Get up! Now!”

“What in Merlin's Name?” Harry couldn't help saying.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry flipped the bacon with practiced ease, ignoring the chatter of the Dursleys behind him. The much younger than they should be Dursleys. Headed by the much more alive than he should be Vernon Dursley.

 

He had a lot of things to think about, and Dudley's annual birthday tantrum was so far at the bottom of that list that it wasn't even on the paper.

 

His situation was a... unique one. Of that, he was sure. Time turners couldn't go back more than 24 hours. Time spells, no matter how strong the caster, could only go back about a month. Harry knew all about that from Hermione's thesis on time and magic that she had made he and Ron read a dozen times to make sure even the layest of laymen could understand it. That paper had won her an award along with her Doctorate in Magical Theory.

 

But here Harry was, somehow more than 25 years in the past. And it wasn't an illusion, he had checked. Unless it was one that could resist the strongest of his wandless illusion breaking spells...

 

“BOY!” Vernon boomed, tearing Harry from his thoughts. Harry blinked, and realized he was sitting at the table, the bacon he had been cooking already gone from the serving tray. He didn't even remember finishing it, or serving it up.

 

The man was red faced and angry, and already looked to be well on his way to the heart attack that would kill him in... 12 years? Harry tried to remember, before realizing that Vernon was now even redder at obviously being ignored, and sighed. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

 

“Are you deaf? Clean up the table then get your shoes! I won't let a freak like you ruin Dudley's birthday by dragging his feet!” Vernon thundered.

 

“Right, right, the zoo...” Harry murmured, hopping off the chair he had been perched on and gathering the empty plates from the table. Though he remembered cooking a veritable feast, there was nothing left that needed to be put in the refrigerator. Instead all of the plates were placed in the sink, and Harry knew he would be washing them later.

 

It was almost odd how easy it was to slip back into the old routine of basically being the Dursley's house elf. Then he realized something, and perked up. If this was an illusion, even one strong enough that he couldn't break, then there was one surefire way to rupture it.

 

Illusions as strong as the one he had to be in relied heavily on memory. The stronger the memory, the stronger the spell. And one of the only ways to break out of an illusion spell or even an illusion potion like that without a wand was to change the most dramatic part of the memory. The victim's mind would recognize the change, and the brain's reaction would shatter it.

 

So the ride to the zoo passed rather slowly in Harry's opinion. He knew what he had to do, he just had to wait for the right moment. He smiled smugly to himself, ignoring Piers' attempts to rile him by prodding him in the side with one of his sharp elbows. Soon this entire farce would be over, and then Harry could hunt down his niece's girlfriend and take some much needed revenge on the chit. Nothing violent, but she deserved a bit of hexing. Harry wouldn't wish a day with the Dursleys on anyone, not even Voldemort.

 

Well... maybe Voldemort.

 

A magicless Voldemort versus the Dursley family. He actually might have paid to see that. The rest of the ride passed much quicker after that, with Harry entertaining himself with the mental images.

 

As a potion master, one spent a lot of time alone with one's thoughts, and in consequence Harry had become rather reticent, spending more time lost in reflection than in conversation. It actually used to drive Ron up the wall.

 

Harry's thoughts ground to a halt. Ron. If there was... if this could be... If maybe this wasn't an illusion, if maybe this was all somehow, impossibly real, then...

 

He could save Ron. Obviously Ron's death wasn't for years to come, and if this wasn't an illusion Harry didn't know how long his little jaunt into the past would last, but maybe if this was all real, then he could somehow stop Ron from... what? From stepping in front of that spell meant for Harry? From becoming an Auror?

 

Harry shuddered lightly. He was beginning to hope this wasn't an illusion, but there was no way that this... hope was healthy. He needed to focus on the here and now.

 

Now if only he could figure out which 'here and now' needed his focus.

 

He scrubbed his hands through his hair as he climbed out of Vernon's company car. There was too much to think about, and what he needed to do hinged on how this day would turn out. So this 'here and now' it was.

 

He followed to Dursleys and Dudley's friend slowly, trying to appear like he wasn't a part of their little entourage. Dudley and Piers were the worst kind of children, loud, demanding, and rambunctious. They ran this way and that, getting under people's feet and pushing smaller children out of their way when they approached animal enclosures. Vernon and Petunia somehow ignored or didn't even see the dirty looks some of the other patrons were sending them. Harry did, and wholly agreed. If a kid tried to act like that in his shop, the parents were given a warning, and if that didn't work, were kicked out. Kids like that had no business being allowed around the sensitive ingredients and fragile vials Harry sold in his shop.

 

They made their way around the zoo in that manner, stopping once for lunch at the overpriced zoo restaurant before finally, finally Dudley led the group to the dark entrance of the reptile house.

 

Harry stared up at the fake rock arch and sighed. So this was it. This was literally make it or break it time. Either way this ended presented their own set of problems. Obviously, one outcome had way more issues attached to it than the other. And Harry didn't know which he really preferred.

 

With one last deep breath, he finally followed them into the reptile house.

 

Because he had lagged behind, Dudley and Piers were already nearly pressing their noses to the glass case separating them from the dozing boa constrictor. Harry barely glanced at the snake before moving slightly beyond it to look at a snake that inhabited a smaller enclosure not too far from the constrictor. If this worked, he would know almost immediately.

Harry had been under illusions a couple times during his short tenure as an Auror. Simpler ones. Ones he had either been able to break immediately, or which shattered like this one was about to. Well, shattering wasn't really the right description. At first, the illusion would play to the end of the climax moment, and it he did not let it play like it was supposed to, then it would skip back to an earlier point and happen all again, like it was trying to force him to follow the path he had actually taken. If he continued to resist, it would happen again, faster this time, and again and again like someone rewinding and then fast forwarding the same part of a movie until it broke under it's own strain.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the Dursleys walk away from the constrictor's cage, and braced himself.

 

When nothing happened, he opened his eyes with a sinking feeling. “Oh.” He heard himself say. “Oh no.”

* * *

 

Going to a muggle school again was an... odd experience. But Harry kept to it as best he could, opting to hide out in the library instead of go to recess after the first time he had nearly hexed Dudley when the child had decided to try to beat him up. He had been pulled aside by no less than three teachers, two of which were concerned by his sudden reticence in class, the third accused him of cheating on his assignments.

 

He may not have done maths in a class setting in years, but even so, failing the pop quiz she had given his class was nearly impossible, and would have actual been embarrassing.

 

So the rest of the school year passed, and Harry spent it planning.

 

Even if he still slightly suspected this was some kind of spell or potion, the amount of time he had spent living as his past self put paid to any of them. Not even in the realm of theory could an illusion have lasted this long.

 

And the longer he stayed in the past, the fewer hopes he had of getting back to the present without a lot of work on his end.

 

And the less he felt the need to go back, anyway.

 

Harry considered himself to be a man with few regrets. He did not regret breaking up with Ginny, he did not regret quitting the Aurors and studying to become a Potions Master, he did not regret hiring his cousin's daughter... okay, no, he did regret that one.

 

But... he did have things he could fix. He could save Ron, could save Sirius, could end the war before it began...

 

So he spent the few weeks leading to the summer holidays writing down his plans in his personal code, the biro at first feeling awkward in his small hand after so many years of using a quill, but he acclimated quickly enough.

 

Finally, on the last day of school, he wandered out to the courtyard. He spent a few minutes searching the crowd of excitedly surging children before spotting his target.

 

“Dudley!” He called, and his cousin looked over from where he was talking to Piers and his other friends before smiling nastily and making a beeline for him. As a child, that look told Harry he needed to run.

 

Now, he just waited until his cousin was close enough to hear him, the look on the pudgy boy's face changing from one of evil intent to one of confusion as he stayed his ground. “Tell your parents I'll see them next summer, probably. Maybe. If I have to.” He said blithely, hitching his bag onto his shoulder and walking away. Dudley stayed rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open dumbly.

 

Harry walked to a fairly empty side street, honestly not sure if the first part of his plan would even work. He raised his hand, and just to be thorough, wandlessly sent sparks into the sky. Then he stepped back to wait, holding his breath.

 

Not even a minute later a violently purple triple decker bus screeched to a halt in front of him. He breathed out in relief. That was the first hurdle. He didn't recognize the driver, but the man introduced himself as Ralph and when Harry nervously held out the tenner he had earned mowing the yard of a woman that lived several streets away from the Dursleys, he cheerfully informed him that the Knight Bus did in fact accept muggle money. He even gave Harry back his change in wizarding money when he requested it.

 

The boy settled himself on one of the chairs, and enjoyed the precarious ride to Diagon Alley. And instead of having to worry about how he was going to gain access to the magical center without a wand, the bus just deposited him somehow in the square itself, before squeezing between the fountain and a close building, and turning out of site.

 

Harry knew that not all of his plans would go so flawlessly, but the fact that his journey to Diagon Alley had gone on without a hitch gave him hope for the next step.

 

He really hoped the goblins of Gringotts had some way of letting him into his vault without the key.

 

* * *

The marble building was just as intimidating as the first time he had ever seen it, and Harry took a moment to stand back and admire the beautiful white marble facade. His trips to Gringotts were usually filled with sneering, angry goblins, who grudgingly allowed him access to his vaults.

 

Apparently even 20 years later they still held a strong grudge against Harry, Ron, and Hermione for their stunt with the Horcrux and the dragon.

 

And that was another thing to consider. How was he going to destroy the Horcuxes this time? The last time they did it was just impractical, especially now that Harry knew where most of them were.

 

Deciding that was something else he would need to add to the growing number of notes he kept, Harry shrugged and walked into the bank. All of the tellers had a short queue, and he joined the shortest, keeping his head bowed in the hopes no one would recognize him or comment on the fact that he was there without an adult.

 

But all of the witches and wizards were absorbed in their own attempts to be unsociable, and the queue moved quickly. Finally Harry found himself at the front. The goblin at the desk had to hang over it in order to see him, took one look at him down it's crooked and craggy nose, and before Harry could say anything, it croaked, “You'll be wanting a banker, then.” It wasn't even a question, the goblin just waved over another passing goblin, who approached and took one look at Harry before smirking.

 

The man in a child's body was confused, but a smirking goblin was better than a sneering one at least. “Follow me, then.” The new goblin ordered.

 

Harry hitched up his bag and followed along curiously. The goblin led him to a small room off the main entryway of the bank, and didn't say anything until both he and Harry were settled in chairs on either side of the unnecessarily large desk and the door was closed.

 

“So...” Harry said after a moment.

 

“You have traveled quite a ways, haven't you?” The goblin said without preamble. The plaque on his desk told Harry his name was Braakx.

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, not really, just from Surrey.”

 

Braakx scowled, and that was a much more familiar expression to Harry. “Do not lie to me, wizard. Any goblin can smell the yet to happen all over you. It's a wonder that your fellow wizards, senseless as they are, can't smell it too. How far removed are you from your time? Ten years? Twenty?”

 

He blinked owlishly at the creature. “You can... smell... the future?” He asked, bemused. Goblins were really strange. “Um... 25 years. I... how did you know? Has this happened before?”

 

Braakx sat back with a grin. “Once to nearly the same extent as yours. But sometimes one of your kind will come in after using one of those Time Turners of yours and they smell faintly of the yet to come. But you, you smell like you bathed in the future, it is so strong as to nearly be visible. What brought you back so far, Harry Potter?”

 

“So someone has traveled to the past like me? When? Did he get back to his own time?” Harry asked, excited and nervous in turns.

 

Braakx held up a gnarled hand. “You will answer my questions, then I might answer yours.”

 

Harry frowned, and pulled one of his notebooks from his bag. “Can I get that in writing? Maybe in a more sure form?”

 

Instead of getting angry, the goblin laughed. It sounded like the terrible offspring of two stone grinding together and a vulture's cry. “You have obviously had many dealings with the goblins of Gringotts. How about this, a question for a question? You answer one of mine, I one of yours.”

 

The dark haired boy thought about that for a moment before nodding. “So what was your question again? Right, why I came back. It wasn't my intention, actually. I was dealing with a client and we got attacked. And when I woke up I was...”

 

“Displaced?”

 

“That's a pretty good word for it, yeah. So my turn. You've met someone who's traveled back a significant amount like me?”

 

“Yes, a man who found himself 15 years in his own past. Unlike you though, he was not in his younger body, so there were two of him about. You said you were attacked? What were you doing?”

 

Harry flipped his notebook open absently in case he felt the need to take notes during this unexpected interview. “I was finishing a potion, an inheritance potion I created. It hadn't had the DNA components added, so it was actually still pretty volatile. So the man, did he get back to his own time or did he have to take the slow path?”

 

“The slow path, what an interesting way to put it. Unfortunately he found he would have to take 'the slow path'. Even more unfortunately, he ran into himself not a few months after ending up here. I'm afraid the paradox drove both of him mad, and the medi-wizards at Saint Mungo's didn't help the matter, as they assumed the two versions of him were actually twins, and put them in the same room. If they had separated them as much as possible, the two of him might have recovered...” The goblin shrugged his thin shoulders. “Now, what brought you to the bank, Mr. Potter? I don't have much time before my next client, and my curiosity has been as satiated as I think you can manage. I have no interest in your wizard potions, so while I was hoping to figure out how you ended up here I don't think we will figure that out today.”

 

“That's... morbid. Oh! Well, I have a vault here, but I don't have the key. I was hoping I could gain access to it regardless.” Harry sat up straighter.

 

Braakx snorted. “Of course you can. Goblins do not actually need the keys to get into the vaults of our bank. We only use them because it makes you ridiculous wizards feel better. I will call a teller now, and he will escort you down to the Potter vault.” Harry made to get up, but Braakx stopped him. He turned his chair until he was facing the wooden filing cabinet behind him. “We usually don't give these to a wizarding heir before they reach their majority,” He said over his shoulder as he reached much further into the cabinet than looked possible. “But as that is both far behind you and far ahead of you, I feel that you will find the finance books attached to your vault invaluable.” Braakx pulled a large leather bound volume from the depths of his filing cabinet, and spun back to face Harry. He set it on the desk, and waved one of his knobby hands over the tome, which then duplicated itself perfectly.

 

Harry accepted the copied book curiously, but didn't have time to look at it before there was a knock at the door, and a teller goblin was there to escort him to the Potter Vault. Braakx said something to the other goblin, who laughed shortly and looked Harry over, before beckoning him to follow. Harry paused to shake the bankers hand before trotting to keep up with the other goblin.

* * *

Later that night, after he had paid Tom the barkeeper for both a room at the Leaky Cauldron until it was time to leave for Hogwarts and his discretion, Harry settled onto the bed with the book propped on his knees.

 

Flipping it open, he nearly choked on the dust that it contained. Obviously the book copied itself down to every dust mote.

 

The first page detailed the opening of the 'Potteur' account in 1476, and what followed was a list of transactions that spanned centuries. Harry didn't bother reading them, instead flipping through the book curiously. There were gaps in the usage of the vault that obviously coincided with one or another Goblin War. Every time a new Potter Heir inherited the vault, it was listed before the transactions they completed. Entire lifetimes boiled down to steadily growing figures in a book. Finally he reached more modern times, and got to the page where his name was listed as the new controller of the account. He expected the outgoing transactions to end there. He knew that some Potters held investments that funneled their profits directly into the account.

 

But under his name, the words 'Account Custodian: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore' were written, and below that a small withdrawal.

 

And then a larger one.

 

All told, there were fifteen sizable withdrawals from the Potter account that Harry had not made. And listed in one of them was 'Invisibility Cloak'.

 

For a moment Harry saw red before he forced himself to calm again and rubbed his forehead, where a headache was brewing. He would go back to Gringotts the next day, he decided, and would see if there was a way to cut off Dumbledore's access to his accounts. He set the book on the bedside table, and settled down to the first real sleep he'd had since he'd ended up in this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that I actually forgot that I posted chapter 1 of this? Like, I thought I finished it, then much like most of my other fics, saved it to the black hole that is my files. So, umm... here's chapter 2? I'm sorry it didn't appear sooner.


End file.
